“Are you going to stand there and stare at me until I wake up or leave without a goodbye?” Her voice was raspy from sleep and her eyes were still closed. I’d been too close to falling into the deep pit of agony thinking of my past to notice the change in her breathing and realize she was awake. I should have left sooner. Now I had to face this. Find a way to make it right and walk away.
“I wasn’t sure. I was still debating.” That was only partially true. I hadn’t been debating. I knew I was going to leave. I had to leave. But the honesty wouldn’t come. Nor would my resolve to leave her. “What’s your preference?” I asked instead of making the decision myself.
She stretched and the blankets eased down just enough that it gave me a clear view of the tops of her breast. Remembering how they felt didn’t help matters. I looked away from her and focused my gaze toward the window.
“I need coffee,” she said instead of answering. “Go turn on the espresso machine and wait for me.”
I simply nodded, knowing I should leave and knowing I wouldn’t. Not until she was ready. I owed her more than a quick exit. The ease in which she was handling this also made it harder to go. Ophelia wouldn’t be dramatic. I knew that, but deep down I wanted her to be more affected by the idea of me leaving. Accepting that weakness as one of many I had when it came to her was another reality.
Walking away from the view of her in the bed was a relief and disappointment. I’d never know what it was like to have her in that bed. To wake up with her curled up to me smiling from a night of wild sex. Fuck, the sorrow that came with knowing this was over before it began hit me harder than I expected. I didn’t torture myself with looking over at the sofa. The images from last night would forever be burned in my brain. I didn’t need any extra encouragement to dwell on it.
The kitchen was dark still before sunrise. I found the light switch and then went over to press the power button on the espresso machine. It was easy enough to find. After turning it on, I leaned back against the counter with my arms crossed over my chest and I waited patiently. Or appeared to be relaxed. I was wound tightly, and it wasn’t going to ease as long as I was near her. Not after last night.
I knew she was thinking we would both feel better about this if we talked before I left. I owed it to her to let her believe she was right. I’d fucked her like a crazed man, talked to her harshly while doing it, and then shot my load into her without permission. I definitely owed her the talking she was wanting. Even if leaving would have been easier. I already knew the sex we had enjoyed wasn’t going to change anything. We were consenting adults. She could reassure herself all of this. I’d give her that. She didn’t need to know she’d fucked with my head. Made me want in a way I didn’t think I could want anymore.
Her exit from the bedroom into the living area stopped all other thought. She hadn’t bothered with brushing her hair. The thick blonde locks were in a disarray that reminded me of sex. She was wearing a large sweatshirt and a pair of men’s boxers when she walked into the room barefoot. The bright pink on her toenails even managed to fascinate me. Damn, I needed to get some space between me and this woman.
She said nothing as she walked by me to begin making her coffee. I waited and when she said nothing, I started thinking maybe she expected me to speak first. The unwelcoming scowl on her face kept me from testing that theory. Instead I gave her time to get her coffee made and hopefully she’d speak soon.
Even if it was “get the fuck out of here.” Which I would deserve and I’d also do without argument.
When she was finally done with the complicated coffee process, she held the cup in her hands and leaned back on the bar to face me.
“I may have drunk too much last night and gotten a little carried away. I remember it clearly though and I’m glad I did . . . we did.” She laughed softly as if her stumbling over the words was funny. “You know what I’m saying. It was great. We’re good. No worries and you’re sneaking out wasn’t required. I won’t be stalking you, I swear.”
The thought of Ophelia Finlay stalking anyone was so damn foreign I would have laughed if I could. A woman like her didn’t need to stalk a man. She needed to be concerned with being stalked herself.